There Will Always Be Hope
by morgainedulac
Summary: After Snape has been told that Lily's son has only been kept alive so that he can die at the right moment, he leaves Hogwarts for a little Muggle town where he once spent a happy weekend with his father. Walking down memory lane he finds a shabby little pub, a memory and hope. (This is the sequel to "His First". You might want to read that first.)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Walking Down Memory Lane**

'You look tired, Severus. Mea culpa. I kept you up too long last night. Maybe, it's time for you to retire? I will send an elf to your quarters with some sandwiches and tea. And maybe some brandy?'

Snape looked up from the stack of essays in front of him, contempt for the headmaster edged into every line of his pale face despite the old man's kind offer.

'Do not try to make me believe that you suddenly care for anyone or anything beside the greater good, Dumbledore,' he snarled. 'As long as it serves your purpose, I could be shaking from exhaustion, you would not care.'

Dumbledore inclined his head. 'This is your tiredness talking, Severus,' he said softly, as if he were talking to a petulant child. 'Take a relaxing herbal bath. I recommend lavender and rosemary. Or go for a stroll. Or…'

Snape slammed his quill down onto the table so violently that the tip broke and the ink spilled and splattered all over the essays.

'Or what? Tantric yoga?'

A bemused smile flitted over Dumbledore's wrinkled face before he opened his mouth to respond, but Snape didn't stick around long enough to hear. He Vanished the essays with a wave of his wand – they had been so bad that they would need to be re-written anyway – and left the staff room in such a hurry that his billowing robes could have been mistaken for a cloud of black smoke. He did not care that him slamming the door resulted in three portraits falling from the wall. Neither did he care about the students who scurried out of his way with terrified expressions on their faces or Filch's outcry that he had just mopped the floor in the corridor Snape was striding through. He did neither have the strength nor the will to care. He didn't even trust himself to lift his gaze and look at anyone. If he did, he would most probably pull his wand and start throwing hexes and curses to the left and right, not caring whom or what they hit or how much damage they caused.

He needed to get out of the castle, he repeated to himself. He needed to leave the grounds, even, to be able to breathe fresh air that had not been polluted with lies and deceit. He needed to get away from everything: Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Potter, the Dark Lord, yes, even the Wizarding world. And he knew just where to go.

He Apparated to the edge of a forest, a good half hour's walk away from the village he hadn't visited since he had been a boy. Back then, he and his father had arrived there by bus. It had been a long and bumpy ride, and little Severus had been ever so uncomfortable. His father had not told him where they were headed, and even though Severus would have much preferred to stay at home with his mother, he had not once protested. He had known better than to talk back to his father, and when the man had said that they'd go away for the weekend, Severus had it deemed best to obey. But he had been terrified during the whole journey, scared to death that he would never see his mother again. Yet when they had gotten off the bus, all Severus' worries had disappeared. They had been melted by the rays of the spring sun, carried away by the gentle breeze. His father had taken him to the lake, and they had spent the day fishing, and when they had retired for the night, his father had not touched a single drop of alcohol, not even for dinner. And for the first night in many years, young Severus had slept soundly, without having to fear either his father's harsh words or his fists.

Had his father known that this village, wedged in between a dark and eerie forest and one of the greenest lakes he had ever seen, was the only village in Britain where not a single witch or wizard resided, Snape wondered now as he walked along the dusty gravel road that led towards the village. He himself had not learnt about this fact until years later, when his Muggle Studies professor had taken his class on a field trip to this particular village. They had Apparated to the edge of the forest then, just as Snape had done tonight. They had handed over their wands to their teacher who in his turn had given them to an Auror for safekeeping, and then the youngsters had spent the day amongst Muggles, studying them and marvelling at them. Young Severus had recognised the pub where his father had bought him fish and chips and had spent quite some time by the lake, while his classmates had engaged in Muggle activities such as going to the cinema. He had once more breathed in the fresh air and turned his pale face towards the spring sun, remembering the only weekend from his childhood when he had not been afraid of his father. Of course, he had never told the man about it. It would surely not have earned him anything else than a good thrashing.

Before entering the village, Snape paused in the shadow of the church wall, carefully tucking away his wand in his boot. He was not supposed to bring it to the village at all, he knew that. Doing any kind of magic within the village was severely punished by the Ministry, and there were Aurors patrolling the outskirts of the village at any hour of the day, making sure that nobody broke the law. But Snape did not feel comfortable handing over his wand to any of them, even if it was only for the short time it would take him to walk through the village and down to the lake. These were perilous times, with danger lurking around every corner, and a man like Severus Snape could not afford to be caught without his wand.

It was a quiet, starless night. The moon was nothing more than a thin crescent in the dark sky, and Snape enjoyed the solitude by the lake. It almost seemed as if he was all alone in the world. There was no Dumbledore, no Dark Lord, no duties, no obligations. There wasn't even any magic, and that night Snape thoroughly relished that feeling. For what good had magic ever done to him, he contemplated. His father had hated it and never missed out on any opportunity to let his son know that he thought him to be a freak, and young Severus had often wondered if his father would have loved him if he had turned out to be a Squib. He would never have come to Hogwarts, never been sorted into Slytherin House, never become acquainted with Lucius Malfoy and never met the Dark Lord.

Now Snape sighed. Not knowing magic would have spared him a lot, he could not deny that, but not knowing magic would also have led to him never getting to know Lily. They had been drawn to each other since they had been two of a kind in a world where neither of them belonged, and for a short while, at her side, young Severus had been allowed to be happy. But then he had destroyed that happiness by calling his best friend a Mudblood. Dark magic had taken a hold of him and he had let it happen. He had been seduced and taken in, and in the end, that same dark magic had destroyed everything he had ever held dear.

The whimper that escaped Snape's lips that night was so tiny that it could have been mistaken for the whispering of the wind in the trees, and by the time he left the edge of the lake, even the treacherous tear that had run down his cheek had dried. It was too late to cry for Lily now, too late to have regrets. Dumbledore had revealed his plans, and all Snape could do now was what he had been doing for almost six years: protect the boy who had his mother's eyes, keep him from harm until the day he had to die in order to fulfil his destiny, to keep the Wizarding world from plummeting into darkness. When that was done, he would be allowed to mourn and beg Lily for forgiveness.

He was frozen to the marrow when he returned to the village. The last winter winds were pulling at his cloak, yet even though he longed for his bed and the crackling fire in his quarters, Snape headed for the pub. He was not yet ready to leave the non-magical world, the village where he was free of everything that had ever burdened him. And maybe, a glass of Muggle spirits would give him both the strength and the courage he needed to face the nightmares of which he knew that were bound to haunt him that night.

Things hadn't changed much in the little pub. The furniture was the same and so were the pictures on the wall, and Snape thought that he even recognised the old fishermen who sat at one of the tables. They had been sitting there the night his father had bought him dinner, and most probably, they still told the same tales.

He slipped into a booth, hid away in the shadows and was almost surprised as the barmaid approached him only moments later. He had not seen her when he had entered the pub, and her steps had been so silent that she seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

'What can I get you?'

'Scotch,' Snape muttered.

'With some water?'

Snape just nodded, barely lifting his gaze.

The barmaid returned less than a minute later, putting a crystal tumbler onto the table that seemed both too exquisite and too expensive for an establishment like this pub, and Snape contemplated the glass for quite some time before he even considered nosing the amber liquid that it contained. Then he stuck his nose into the glass and gently sniffed the whisky, inhaling its warm, peaty aroma before pulling away again, rolling the glass as he did so. It was too dark to really appreciate the spirit's colour, but Snape imagined it to be the shade of molten gold or honey dripping from a comb at midsummer's eve.

'Let me light you another candle so you can see what you're drinking.'

The barmaid produced a box of matches from her apron, and Snape watched her hands as she lit one of the matches. Her fingers were long and slender and her nails perfectly manicured, and just as the glass she had put in front of him, her hands seemed out of place in the shabby little pub.

'No need to bother,' Snape pointed out and put his hand over the little glass that held a half-melted, dusty tea light. 'I prefer the dark.'

He heard a sharp intake of breath and saw how the hand that held the match started to tremble, and when he looked up, he managed to catch a glimpse of the barmaid's green eyes before she blew out the match and the booth filled with darkness once more.

Snape blinked. He had been thinking about Lily a fair bit over the last twenty-four hours, and as he had now looked into a pair of green eyes, he had thought that he recognised them. But surely, his tired mind was playing tricks on him. Lily was long gone and her eyes forever closed.

As the barmaid left him, he started sipping his whisky, trying to forget, but however hard he tried, however hard he blinked, he was unable to block out the eyes he had just seen. Almond shaped and green as spring clover, almost hidden behind thick, dark lashes. He did know them. They were more than just a memory. But could it be? Could this woman be the girl he had lost almost fifteen years ago? How would she have ended up here, in a shabby little pub in the only village in Britain where witches and wizards only existed in fairy tales?

Snape shook his head at himself. The chances of this woman being Nadezhda McKibben were more than slim, and even considering the possibility was ludicrous. But still, he could not stop himself from tentatively looking back over his shoulder.

The woman was now standing in front of a door that was marked with the words "Staff only", conversing with a stout, balding man, most probably the owner of the pub. She was a good head taller than the man and was bending down in order to whisper into his ear. Her dark hair obscured her features, bereaving Snape of another chance to see her eyes, and he could not help but think that she did not want him to see her face. Then she noticed him looking at her, turned on her heel and disappeared through the door behind her, and only moments later, the front door opened, causing Snape to sink back into the shadows of his booth. He knew the two men that had entered the pub. They were both Aurors, Ministry employees, and Snape had no desire whatsoever to be seen by any of them. He had done nothing wrong, but if they saw him, they would still wonder what he was doing in this Muggle village, and Snape did not want to answer any questions.

The two Aurors chose a table in the middle of the pub, next to the old fishermen, and ordered each a cup of coffee, one with milk, the other with sugar. They looked alert, scanned the room with attentive eyes but didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. And within fifteen minutes, they had finished their coffee and were heading out.

Maybe he should leave as well, Snape considered, even though he had barely touched his whisky. All of a sudden he was not in the mood for alcohol anymore and longed instead for fresh air. Most probably, the walk back to the forest would do him much better than any drink ever would. But when he rose to leave, he saw the landlord coming towards him.

'Wasn't the whisky to your liking, sir?' the man asked, eyeing Snape's almost full glass. 'I'll get you another brand, if you like.'

Snape shook his head.

'It was quite an exquisite drop,' he said politely. 'But I realised I am not in the mood for whisky.'

'May I get you something else?' the landlord asked. 'Brandy? Gin?'

Snape frowned. It almost seemed as if the man didn't want him to leave.

'Please, sit,' the landlord urged. 'I'll bring you a glass of Bunnahabhain. On the house, of course. You'll love it. Sit, sit.'

Still frowning, Snape sat back down. He had rarely encountered a landlord so eager for a patron to stay and was now far too intrigued to leave. Certainly, the landlord had good reasons for wanting to treat him to a fine glass of Scotch.

The man returned with two glasses, and as he sat down opposite Snape, there was no doubt that he had something on his mind. He looked curious, even excited, and Snape had barely time to nose his whiskey before the landlord started talking.

'I saw you talking to my daughter.'

'Your daughter?' Snape asked.

'The barmaid,' the landlord clarified.

Snape slowly put down his glass, feeling almost a bit disappointed. So the woman wasn't Nadezhda McKibben. Of course not. Chances of Hufflepuff winning the House Cup this year were bigger.

'We weren't really talking,' he said now. 'I simply pointed out that there was no need to light another candle.'

'Oh, I see.'

The landlord looked crestfallen and the excitement had all but vanished from his face.

'I thought… I was hoping that… that you knew her.'

Once more, Snape frowned.

'You see,' the landlord continued, leaning in slightly and dropping his voice to a whisper. 'She isn't really my daughter. She came wandering into the village one night, a little more than fourteen years ago. Nicely dressed but in quite a state. She had no idea where she was or where she had come from, and so the cops took her down to the hospital. My wife, may she rest in peace, was a nurse there, you see. She took pity on the girl when she was released. Poor thing had nowhere to go. So my wife brought her here. We gave her a job and a place to stay. And when my wife died… The girl is the only family I have left, and I am the only family she knows.'

'Fourteen years ago?' Snape wondered. Surely, by now the woman must remember where she came from or someone must have come looking for her, but the landlord firmly denied this.

'You know, it's quite strange. The cops took her fingerprints and everything but found nothing at all. It's almost as if she appeared out of thin air. We tried everything. Therapy, hypnosis. We even sent her to a medium one day. But nothing. All she seems to remember is her name.'

'And what, if I may ask, is her name?' Snape enquired, once more optimistic.

'Hope,' the landlord answered. 'Her name is Hope.'

* * *

A/N:  
Dear reader, old and new,  
I am very glad that you have read this first chapter and hope you enjoyed it. I know I let you wait a long time after iHis First/i, and I apologise for that. I also have to ask you to be patient. This is not an easy story for me to write and as fluffy bunnies are far and few between, I hope you will forgive me if I need to take a breather every now and then. I promise I will not let you wait too long for the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: A Crack in the Wall**

It was long past midnight when Snape finally left the pub and with it, the Muggle village. His steps were surprisingly steady, despite the fact that the old landlord had kept refilling his glass over and over again. But then of course, Severus Snape could hold his liquor, had been forced to learn how to over the years. He was perfectly able to spend a night at Malfoy Manor, wining and dining without getting drunk yet at the same time drinking enough to not insult his host. He had his strategies for keeping a clear head. For a man in his position, this was imperative. What if the Dark Lord called for him in the middle of the night? It wouldn't do showing up intoxicated. He had too much to hide, too many secrets to protect.

Nadezhda McKibben had been one of those secrets once, Snape mused as he made his way towards the forest. He had taught the girl white magic while the Dark Lord demanded that she be taught curses, and hours later, he had lied right into the Dark Lord's face, telling him that the girl was making good progress, that she would be ready to take the Dark Mark before winter came. Yet even though the girl had never been branded, Snape still felt that he had failed her somehow. She might not have had her soul swallowed by Darkness, but he had seen her smile falter, and in the end, it had vanished for good.

And then she had vanished.

Snape sighed and looked back towards the village once more. The barmaid had not returned all evening, bereaving him of the chance to have a better look at her, and even though landlord Edmunds was a talkative man, he had not given Snape many clues to discover she was his long lost student or not. Of course, the young woman had shown up in the village at about the right time, didn't have any family or friends who were looking for her, and those two facts alone made it very plausible that she was a witch on the run, a witch so desperate to get away from the Wizarding world that she would seek shelter in a Muggle village. But Snape didn't dare hope. For certain, Edmunds would have noticed if he'd had a witch living under his roof for so many years. Nadezhda McKibben had never known the Muggle ways. Something as simple as using a light switch would have seemed odd to her, and she would surely have given herself away by flinching at the ringing of a phone or the moving, talking pictures in a television set. But then again, according to landlord Edmunds, the young woman who had come wandering into the village fourteen years ago had been in quite a state, both physically and mentally. Any odd behaviour on her part could have been explained by her current condition. She would have had time to learn how to adapt to her new surroundings. And Nadezhda McKibben had always been a clever witch.

A miniscule smile tugged at the corner of Snape's lips. 'Hope. Her name is Hope,' Edmunds had said, and while Snape remembered the landlord's words, he heard the echo of words spoken one and a half decades ago by a then sixteen-year-old girl.

'Nadezhda is a Bulgarian name, sir. It means _hope_.'

Hope…

Snape shook his head at himself. He should just let it go. Hope was common enough a name, and then again, this might simply be a coincidence. He should just forget what he had seen, what he _thought_ he had seen, and walk away. He had been distracted all evening, had been thinking about Lily far too much and then simply _wished_ to see her eyes in the darkness, those eyes which he knew so well. And Nadezhda's eyes had reminded him of Lily's already when she had looked at him for that very first time. The same colour, the same shape…

'Good evening, professor Snape.'

Instinctively, Snape drew his wand to point it towards the direction from where the greeting had come, ready to defend himself. But when a dark clad figure detached itself from the shadows of the trees at the edge of the forest, he lowered his weapon just as swiftly. There was no mistaking the woman's posture and her almost soundless steps. Some things never change.

'Good evening, Miss McKibben,' Snape said in a low voice.

His breath froze to ice in the cold night air like hers had, and Snape thought that he heard her teeth chatter. She must have been standing at the edge of the forest for quite some time.

'You have been waiting for me,' he stated.

The woman nodded.

'How did you know I would come here?'

'Magic always leaves a trace, especially in a place like this, where there normally is none,' she started to explain. 'I knew you Apparated here and simply hoped you would choose the same spot to Disapparate again. After all, wizards are creatures of habit.'

Snape couldn't help but smirk. The woman in front of him had no idea about his habitual behaviour. She might remember how he kept his books and potions in a certain order on the shelves in his classroom and study, but she couldn't even begin to imagine the rigidness of his daily routines, how even the buttoning of his robes in the morning had become a sacred ritual.

'Are you a creature of habit, Miss McKibben?' he enquired.

'Most definitely,' she answered. 'Any means to keep one's sanity, am I right? And it's Edmunds now, sir. Miss McKibben vanished half a lifetime ago.'

'Along with Nadezhda?' Snape ventured to ask.

'Did she ever exist?' the woman questioned.

She looked up at him at the same moment the clouds parted. The pale moonlight shone down upon her face, and Snape's breath caught in his chest. Her eyes were still as green as spring clover, and the coldness in them rivalled the chill of winter. Two precious gems, lifeless and cold, just like the emeralds that represented the House she had once been sorted into.

When was the last time a smile had reached those eyes, Snape wondered. Had they ever sparkled?

'Why did you run? Tonight, I mean,' he added quickly, noticing how ambiguous his question was. He knew why Nadezhda McKibben had run away fifteen years ago. Or at least, he thought he knew.

'Wouldn't you have, sir?' she wondered. 'If a ghost from another life suddenly stood on your doorstep, wouldn't you run?'

Snape nodded. He would probably have run to the end of the world.

'I did not follow you,' he pointed out. 'You could be halfway to the highlands by now. Why did you choose to wait for me here?'

He saw her swallow and a muscle twitch at her jaw, but she held his gaze steadily. When she spoke, her voice was firm.

'When I recognised you, I panicked. I never wanted to be found, especially not now, especially not by you.'

Snape frowned. Especially not now? Especially not by him? Whatever did she mean?

'I have been seeing the signs for some months now,' she answered his silent question. 'That bridge collapsing last summer and nobody knowing why; the so called hurricane in the West Country and the everlasting fog; people disappearing or being murdered, people whose names I remember very well. And those Aurors that are patrolling the village… Well, let us say that some of them should learn how to talk a little more quietly.'

She broke off and took a deep breath, and Snape unconsciously tightened his grip around his wand.

'I know evil is rising once again,' the woman continued. 'An evil so dark there is only one wizard who can be responsible for it. He _is_ back, isn't he?'

Snape nodded gravely and watched her rub her left wrist. Had her scars healed, he wondered. Or were they festering once more, like the mark the Dark Lord had left on ihis/i arm?

'I guess he has a greater scheme and that he does not care about a girl who never even joined his ranks,' she went on. 'But when I saw you, when I understood who you were… Forgive me, sir, but I could not know whose side you are on this time.'

'Do you know now?' Snape enquired in a matter-of-fact tone.

'No. I simply assumed that you would neither have let me leave the pub nor spend hours chatting with the landlord if you were looking for Nadezhda McKibben on the Dark Lord's orders.'

'Cleverly deducted,' Snape pointed out, resisting the urge to hand out House points. The woman in front of him was not his student anymore and any sardonic comment from his side would be utterly out of place.

They looked at each other in silence for quite some time. Snape could easily have penetrated her mind, reading her thoughts in order to answer all the questions that were burning inside his own mind, but he refrained from doing so. He had no right to ask her any questions, about neither her sudden disappearance nor what she had been up to for the last fifteen years.

'Aren't you curious about why I came here?' he asked instead. 'To a Muggle village?'

'I am sure you had your reasons, sir. Reasons that are none of my business.'

As little as her reasons for being in this village were any of _his_ business, Snape concluded. He was curious, of course, but decided to bide his time.

'Is there still something left in the Bunnahabhain bottle?' the woman asked after a couple of moments.

Snape nodded.

'A glass or two, I assume.'

'Why don't you come back and empty it one day? I'm sure Edmunds would be glad to see you again.'

'Would you?' Snape asked.

'I promise you I won't run away again. Good night now, sir. It has been a pleasure seeing you.'

'The pleasure was mine, Miss… Miss Edmunds.'

Edmunds. Hope Edmunds. Her new name felt strange on his lips, but as Snape watched her disappear into the night, he came to the conclusion that calling her Nadezhda McKibben would have felt even stranger. That witch did not exist anymore, had not existed for over a decade. That he had happened to stumble across her that night didn't make any difference.

But Snape could not deny that he was curious. Curious about why she had chosen to live in this village of all places, how she had been and who she had become, and when he returned less than a fortnight later, he had a hard time convincing himself that he was returning simply because he really wanted to finish that bottle of Bunnahabhain . He had been thinking about Nadezhda – about Hope – more often than he cared to admit over the last two weeks. But when he once more sat in the same dark booth he had chosen during his first visit, all the questions which he had so carefully formulated in his mind seemed to have vanished. This pub wasn't the right place to ask them. It belonged in a different world, even in a different time. Hope was not the witch he had once known, and he himself seemed to be someone else as well. Maybe he was once more the little boy on a weekend excursion with his father, secretly watching the old fishermen who were sitting at the next table, hoping to catch a part of the wondrous tales they were sharing.

'Slow night?' Snape asked when he was served his drink.

'I wish,' Hope answered, her eyes wandering from the fishermen to the lone drunk who was talking to the landlord at the bar. 'This is about as busy as it gets.'

Snape frowned.

'How do you keep in business?' he wondered.

'Who says we do?'

She inhaled audibly through her nose and after having checked that all her customers were satisfied for the time being, she sat down opposite Snape.

'There's still some money,' she explained in a low voice. 'Old money.'

'I see.'

She didn't need to say more. Snape had seen the muscles of her neck tighten and her hands start to shake slightly before she had hidden them under the table. She was using her heritage to keep the business afloat, old money, acquired through generations by one of the oldest Wizarding families in Britain. Old money that probably was her very last link to the life she had left behind.

'Does Edmunds know?'

'Of course not. I've been doing the books ever since his wife died. He has no idea, neither about how bad business is doing nor about the money. He doesn't need to know.'

'He will not hear it from me,' Snape assured her and thought he'd heard her give a sigh of relief.

'Edmunds does not know anything, does he? About who you are and _what_ you are?' he asked, keeping his voice low.

'Of course, he doesn't,' Hope interrupted him and then quickly lowered her gaze as if to collect herself. No matter how many years had passed, her upbringing was still very obvious. Good girls do not interrupt. Good girls do not lose their composure.

After a few moments, she once more lifted her gaze, looking imploringly at her former Head of House.

'As far as Edmunds is concerned, I do not remember anything about my past. I appeared out of thin air one day, owning nothing else than the clothes on my back. No money, no memories. There is _nothing_ for him to know. Nothing at all. Do you understand?'

His eyes never left hers when he nodded, and once more, Snape promised not to utter a single word. Her secrets weren't his to tell.

He watched her cross the room and listened to her chatting with the fishermen as they took their leave, saw her replace the drunken man's empty glass with a plate of pie and mash and imagined the ghost of a smile on her lips as the man started to eat. Most probably, it was not the first time that she made sure he didn't drink himself into a stupor.

'A regular customer?' he asked as Hope brought him his second pint and the man staggered out of the pub half an hour later.

'Hm. A widower. His wife passed away years ago, but he still comes here to drown his sorrows as soon as he gets his hands on some money.'

'And you make sure he does not spend the lot of it?'

'If he doesn't sober up before morning, he won't be able to go to work,' Hope explained. 'No work, no pay. He has a son to take care of, you see.'

'It is very kind of you to feed him and send him home even though his drinking would earn you money,' Snape pointed out.

'I need to do something good in this world, don't I?' Hope replied, her voice suddenly filled with so much bitterness that it made Snape shiver. As did the look in her eyes.

'I am certain you have done plenty of good,' he tried to appease her, but Hope slowly shook her head.

'Not enough, sir. Not nearly enough.'

'Don't you listen to her, stranger. She's being far too modest for her own good. And what are you doing drinking ale? Don't you and I have a nice bottle of Bunnahabhain to finish?'

The landlord sat down opposite Snape, in the same spot Hope had sat less than an hour ago, and patted her arm in a friendly gesture.

'Hope, darling, why don't you go and fetch that bottle? And lock up while you're at it, would you? I doubt we'll get any more customers tonight.'

Had the man not noticed the look in Hope's eyes, Snape wondered. How could he not have? But maybe, Snape thought, _he_ knew what to look for while Edmunds did not. For he knew that look, saw it in his own mirror far more often than he wanted to. That look filled with self-hatred and desperation, overshadowed by endless guilt. What on earth had happened to the girl he had once known? What had taken away her innocence and her hope?

'She is my ray of sunshine, my Hope,' the landlord started. 'I don't know what I would have done without her. When my wife passed away… She was my everything, you know. My sun, my air. If it hadn't been for Hope, I would have followed her to the grave. But Hope took care of everything. Me, the pub. I owe her a lot.'

'You don't owe me anything. You gave me a home when I had nowhere else to go. The least I can do is tend your bar.'

Both Edmunds and Snape looked up at Hope, who was suddenly standing beside them once more, the landlord seemingly a little more surprised than Snape.

'I sometimes wonder how you manage to sneak up on people like this, dear one,' he pointed out. 'It's almost as if you appear out of thin air. Poof! Like magic.'

He gesticulated like a Muggle Wizard who was pulling flowers out of his sleeve or a rabbit out of a hat, and Hope tilted her head, giving him the tiniest of smiles.

'Are you sure you should have another drink? You seem to be imagining things already. There is no such thing as magic.'

The landlord laughed heartily, thereby missing that Hope's hands were once more shaking as she put down her tray.

'Will you not be joining us?' Snape asked as he noticed that she had only brought two glasses.

'I'm afraid not. I can't hold my liquor.'

She was trying to make it sound like a joke, but her smile was so fake that Snape saw right through it. She didn't want to be there anymore, so much was clear to him.

'I'll count up the till and go to bed if that's alright,' she addressed the landlord.

'Are you sure?' Edmunds enquired. 'It's still early. Have a cup of tea and sit with us, dear.'

He sounded concerned, but Hope still shook her head.

'Tomorrow will be a much better day if I retire now,' she pointed out. 'Good night, father. Sir.'

'A barmaid who cannot hold her liquor?' Snape mused after Hope had gone upstairs. 'That is quite unheard of.'

'Oh, she can hold her liquor alright,' Edmunds pointed out. 'I've seen her drink sailors under the table. But there are days when…'

He broke off and sighed.

'She is a gentle soul, my Hope. Fragile, to say the least. She hides it well most of the time, but sometimes I can tell that there is… a shadow, something from her past that keeps her from smiling. I don't know what it is, and sometimes I think that I don't want to know.'

He looked up at Snape, his brown eyes full of worries.

'Do you mind if we have that drink some other time?' he asked, pointing at the glasses and the bottle. 'I think I'd better go check on Hope so she won't do anything stupid.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Deal**

It was a cold night, and despite it being the middle of March, the cold winds blowing in from the North carried with them the smell of snow and ice. Yet Snape still lingered at the edge of the Black Lake, staring into its depths without really being aware of them. Instead, he imagined the icy green water of the lake by the Muggle village. Green like her eyes and just as cold.

He should go back and make sure that she was alright, Snape thought a couple of times but each time shook his head at himself almost before he had finished the thought. Edmunds would take care of her, just as he had for the last fourteen years. There was nothing he could contribute, Snape told himself. And besides, Hope losing her composure that evening was most probably his fault anyway. He could not tell when their conversation had turned sour or which of his questions he shouldn't have asked, but he was quite convinced that the evening would have turned out different if he had held his tongue.

Maybe he shouldn't have returned to the pub in the first place, he thought now. Certainly, upon their first meeting, Hope had invited him back. But had she anticipated what was going to happen? Had she been prepared for a ghost of her past to come barging into her life once more? Had she been prepared for the memories that would awaken? Or had she been taken by surprise, been caught unawares and been scared by what she'd seen, so much that she once more decided to run?

Snape breathed in the cold night air, exhaled and kicked at a stone with frustration. All of a sudden, he was not sure anymore why he had gone back to the pub and wondered if it were for the best if he stayed away from now on. Hope was not the girl he had once known, and the girl he _had_ known – Nadezhda – was long since gone. There was no room for him in Hope's life, and she certainly had no need of him. If anything, he was a cold reminder of a past she had no desire to be reminded of. He should let it go. He should leave her alone. But when Snape laid himself down to rest in his quarters that night, he could not help but see her eyes in front of him in the dark: cold and desolate but just as precious as the emeralds that filled the Slytherin hourglass in the Entrance Hall.

It shouldn't be like this, Snape mused, once more sitting up, acutely aware that he would not receive the gift of sleep that night. After all those years away from the Wizarding world, Hope should have found peace. She should have been able to leave behind everything she had witnessed, everything she had been through. The suffering, the darkness, the deceit. But for some reason, everything was still there, festering in her heart and soul.

'There is a shadow,' Edmunds had said. 'Something from her past that keeps her from smiling.'

Snape sighed. Maybe running away had not been the right decision after all, he mused. Maybe the very magic Nadezhda had run away from was the reason why Hope didn't know how to smile. Magic was not simply a gift, a tool to employ whenever one had use of it. Magic was part of one's soul, and denying it could have dire consequences. Maybe Hope was lacking the one thing she tried so hard to forget. Maybe she felt it, too, and had therefore invited him back in, him, her old teacher, the one who had once shown her white magic, good magic. Maybe she wanted him to show her again. Just maybe…

With a groan, Snape climbed out of bed, shaking his head at himself. There were too many maybes and too many questions, questions to which he would not find any answers in the confinement of his quarters. The questions might not be his to answer, but he did not care. He had once promised that girl to look out for her and had failed her, a mistake he intended to rectify now no matter how high the cost. He owed her that much at least, and the next morning, he promised himself, he would return to the Muggle village in order to look straight into Hope's green eyes and demand to talk to Nadezhda. For Nadezhda McKibben was the only one who could answer the questions neither of them yet knew how to ask.

* * *

The look on landlord Edmunds' face was one of utter surprise when he unlocked the door of his pub the next morning and caught sight of the dark clad man outside, who seemed to have been waiting for the pub to open for quite some time.

'I do hope you went home to sleep,' he exclaimed. 'Judging by the dark circles under your eyes, I'd say you didn't, though. Where do you live, anyway?'

'Close enough to have made it there for some hours of sleep,' Snape replied.

Edmunds was right, however. He had not slept. Instead he had tried to come up with the right things to say to Hope, the same questions he had prepared so carefully over the last weeks but not had the opportunity to ask the night before. Now he would ask them. Now he would demand answers. But when he entered the pub, he found that Hope wasn't there.

'How is your daughter?' he enquired, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. Why he was even trying to hide his concern, he didn't know. His returning obviously meant that he did care.

'Didn't sleep either, the poor thing,' Edmunds replied. 'She's still upstairs in her room. I'm not sure she'll come at all down today. Coffee?'

Snape nodded.

'Milk and sugar?'

'Black.'

'You'll regret this,' Edmunds warned, and sure enough, Snape winced slightly when he swallowed the first mouthful of the black brew.

'I'm rubbish at making coffee,' Edmunds apologised and pushed the sugar bowl towards Snape. 'Hope's coffee, however, is a gift from heaven. I don't know how she does it, but she seems to have a knack for it. Whoever taught her how to brew deserves a medal.'

_I'm sure her old Potions master would be delighted to hear that_, Snape thought, hiding a smirk behind his cup and wondering if Slughorn would even remember Nadezhda McKibben. Certainly, the daughter of a simple Ministry employee had not been material for the Slug Club. Most probably, Slughorn had forgotten all about her.

'How is Hope?' he now enquired for the second time that morning, this time intentionally using the name Nadezhda had chosen. He wanted to make sure that Edmunds knew that he was not simply making small talk. He did care about Hope. He cared a lot.

Edmunds put down his cup, leaned back in his chair and gave Snape a scrutinising look.

'You seem to care quite a bit about her considering that you've only met her twice,' he pointed out. 'Are you sure you don't know her?'

'Would it matter?' Snape asked, putting down his cup as well, unblinkingly meeting the landlord's gaze.

'No. I assume it wouldn't,' Edmunds replied and then buried his face in his hands.

'I would give my very soul to see a smile in her eyes,' he continued quietly. 'Just once. God knows she deserves it.'

Then he once more lifted his head, once more looking Snape straight in the eyes.

'Do you know what it takes?' he wondered. 'Do you know how to make her smile?'

'I am afraid I don't,' Snape replied, but to his surprise, the landlord still straightened up.

'You'll try your best, though, won't you?' he asked and Snape nodded. Try was all he could do. But when he climbed the stairs that led to the flat above the pub about half an hour later, he wondered what he had gotten himself into. He was representing everything Nadezhda had fled, the world she had left behind, dark magic as well as light. How would he of all people ever be able to chase her shadows away? Would she even let him try? But despite his doubts, he walked along the corridor at the top of the stairs and knocked on the second door to the right.

No answer.

Snape wasn't even surprised. Edmunds had prepared him, telling him about the days when Hope refused to leave her room, when she turned down both food and drink and would do nothing else than stand by the window for days at a time, blankly staring into nothingness, until lack of sleep and nourishment would make her collapse on the floor.

'I'm scared for her on those days,' Edmunds had told Snape. 'She has never tried to hurt herself, but I can't stop myself from thinking that one day, she will open that window and jump to her death. She has promised me a hundred times that she won't, but it's still my greatest fear.'

Snape swallowed drily. He had no idea what he would find on the other side of the door when he opened it. In the best of cases, Hope was up, getting ready to go downstairs and face the world. In the worst of cases, she had broken the promise she had given to the man who was more of a father to her than Duncan McKibben ever had been. Nobody would ever know her reasons, and Snape would spend the rest of his life wondering whether he and his sudden appearance in her life had been the cause for her breakdown. And once again, a pair of green eyes would come to haunt his darkest dreams.

He pushed open the door ever so carefully, preparing himself for the worst. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could not stop himself from giving a sigh of relief when he saw Hope standing by the window which was firmly closed. She was wearing a dark green dress, and it was hard to tell where her black hair ended and the black shawl around her shoulders started.

'What are you doing here?' she asked as Snape stepped into the room. She had not turned around, and he had to assume that she was seeing his reflection in the window.

'I wanted to make sure that you are alright,' he answered. 'I will leave again if you want me to.'

He'd leave her room, her life, anything she'd ask him to. But to Snape's surprise, her answer was another.

'I'd like you to stay.'

She turned around ever so slowly, feet first, then hips and torso. She seemed reluctant to look at him, and when she finally turned her head, she kept her gaze lowered for quite some time. Snape saw her chest and shoulders rise and heard her take a couple of deep breaths, almost as if she were gathering the strength and courage to look at him. When she finally did look up, he almost wished she hadn't.

She was a pitiful sight. The dark shadows under her eyes clashed violently with her pale cheeks, and together with her red-rimmed eyes, they bore witness of far too many sleepless nights. But there were no traces of dried tears on her cheeks, and Snape wondered if she even knew how to cry.

'Please,' she said almost inaudibly. 'Stay.'

Snape nodded and wordlessly closed the door. Who was he to refuse her? How would he be able to live with himself if he walked away now? Yet so far, he had no idea why Hope wanted him to stay.

He sat down on the chair that she offered him by the vanity table and watched her extinguish a candle on her nightstand, only now realising that the frame behind it contained a painting of a burning candle and not a mirror. He could have sworn that he had seen both candles flicker as he had entered the room, but as one was now extinguished and the other quite still, he figured that he must have been imagining things.

'I have lit a candle every evening for the last fifteen years. It burns through the night and keeps me company. Silly, isn't it? A grown woman being afraid of the dark.'

'Not silly at all,' Snape pointed out, not daring to even start counting the nights when he heard the shadows of the past moving around his bed and didn't dare open his eyes to face them. He knew very well what it meant to be afraid of the dark.

'Some days, I am even afraid of the light,' Hope continued, her eyes still on the extinguished candle. 'In the bright light of day, there is nowhere to hide.'

He heard her take a shuddering breath and saw her bring her hand to her face for a moment, but when she turned to look at him once more, Snape was taken by surprise. She was still pale and her eyes still red, but the look in them was one of determination.

'It's quite easy to walk through the front door of the Leaking Cauldron and step right into Muggle London, you know,' she started. 'After two blocks you're used to the noise and after a couple of hours you have learnt how to avoid getting hit by cars and busses. Another couple of hours and you realise that Muggles aren't all that different from Wizarding folks.'

'If I recall correctly, you did well in Muggle studies,' Snape commented. 'Some of your peers were Muggles. Their world could not have been all new to you.'

Hope nodded.

'Who knew that I would have use for a school subject that earned me more beatings than praise at home,' she said with a slightly bitter tone. 'But I was grateful for my Muggle friends, especially for Charles. I couldn't have made it without him.'

'Charles Herrington?'

Snape frowned, and a miniscule smile tugged at the corners of Hope's mouth as she sat down opposite him on the edge of the bed.

'You never wondered why Charles changed his mind about spending the Christmas holidays at Hogwarts, did you? We very much hoped you wouldn't.'

Snape raised an eyebrow in surprise. Charles Herrington? The stuttering boy who had been so afraid of his Head of House that he had spilled the beans on his best friend on Christmas morning, revealing that she had sneaked out of the castle the night before?

'Mr Herrington never sought my permission to leave the castle that Christmas,' Snape explained. 'It was Headmaster Dumbledore who arranged for him to Floo directly to…'

He broke off and his left eyebrow joined his right.

'…the Leaky Cauldron,' he finished slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the scheme that was unfolding before him.

'It wasn't the best of places to wait for him,' Hope admitted. 'But it was Christmas, and the pub was busy, and a couple of extra Galleons can turn people into blind bats. No one saw me. No one knew I was there. And the name Nadezhda McKibben never made it into the ledger. She had already ceased to exist.'

'So Mr Herrington met you there and…'

'…and took me to his great-aunt's cottage, right there, on the other side of the lake.'

She nodded towards the window, and Snape followed her gaze, even though he knew that he wouldn't be able to see the lake from where he was sitting, never mind the opposite shore.

'He stayed with me until term recommenced, teaching me how to work the lights, the heating and the stove,' Hope recounted.

'What about Mr Herrington's great-aunt?' Snape enquired.

'She had moved to a retirement home half a year earlier,' Hope explained. 'The cottage was to rent but in too bad a state for anyone wanting to live there. But Charles had always been one of Professor McGonagall's best Transfiguration students.'

She didn't take her eyes off the window while she described in detail how Charles had transformed the rundown cottage into a palace for her or how he had put up Muggle Repelling-Charms around the property to ensure that no one would bother her. It was almost as if she were travelling back in time in her mind, back to the cottage where her Charles had taken such good care of her. Her features softened, and Snape imagined how she had been happy there. Hopefully, Charles had been able to magic the smile into her eyes which she now so sorely lacked.

'By the time Charles had to return to Hogwarts, he had taken care of everything,' Hope continued. 'He even made sure that his great-aunt received a monthly payment, so she would believe that someone was renting her cottage. He had thought of everything and had been kinder to me than anyone ever had. And to this day, I am ashamed of what I did to him.'

She bent her head and took a deep breath, and as she looked up at Snape again, he could see tears glittering in her eyes.

'I erased his memory,' she confessed. 'On the last night we spent together, after he had fallen asleep in my arms, I made sure he would never remember Nadezhda McKibben. It broke my heart, but I could not take the risk of him letting slip one day that he knew where she was. She had to disappear for good.'

'You didn't have your wand at the time,' Snape pointed out, but Hope simply shrugged.

'Charles had a wand. I had borrowed it a couple of times during the holidays in order to perform some simple spells on the house. It was obedient enough. And since Charles never returned to the cottage or even went looking for me in the morning, I assume the charm worked. It didn't do any damage, did it?

'None that I have seen,' Snape assured her.

'Good. Good,' Hope whispered, hastily wiping away the tears of relief that were running down her cheeks, and Snape could only imagine how many sleepless nights she had spent, wondering whether she had unintentionally hurt her best friend.

'If I remember correctly, Mr Herrington has become a Healer,' he told her. 'I could make some enquires, if you'd like me to.'

'No! No. No, please, don't. I don't want to… I can't…'

She broke off, covering her mouth with her hands. They were once again shaking, and Snape had the good grace to look away, giving Hope time to regain her composure.

'I do not want to know anything about the Wizarding world,' she said in the end. 'I can't know. I mustn't. Do you understand?'

Snape nodded.

'I do understand, Miss Edmunds,' he said gravely and rose from his chair. 'And because I understand, I will now bid you goodbye.'

'No. Please, don't go,' Hope exclaimed and rose as well, and for the tiniest of moments, Snape thought that she was about to grab his arm. But she stopped in mid-movement, drew back her hand and hid it in the folds of her dress.

'How can you want me to stay?' Snape asked, truly confused. 'I am part of what you left behind. The Wizarding world, magic. I will always remind you of it, no matter how carefully we try to avoid the subject.'

'I never had anything to fear when you were by my side,' Hope replied quietly. 'The magic you showed me is not the one I fled from. And besides, you came to this village for a reason, just as I did. I have no right to ask you to leave.'

Snape swallowed. Upon finding his former student here, he had almost forgotten why he had come to the Muggle village in the first place a fortnight ago. It was a place with no magic, neither dark nor light. It was a place where none of his masters existed, neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort. It was a place where Severus Snape did not exist. Here he was neither spy nor Death Eater. Here he was simply the boy he had once been, grown into a man that no one knew.

'I have no right to ask you to leave,' Hope repeated. 'And when I told you that it had been a pleasure seeing you again, I meant it. I really did. So, please, the next time you come here, let us forget who we once were. Let us forget what we know about each other and where we come from. Let's just be… two acquaintances who share a drink every now and then in a shabby little pub. Do you think we can do this?'

'I do not know, Miss Edmunds,' Snape answered truthfully and looked deeply into her green eyes. 'But I do think we should give it a try.'


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Revelations**

It was one of those grey Sunday afternoons in mid-April. The students of Hogwarts were huddled up inside, doing their homework in their dormitories or the library, the sixth-years concentrating on the theory of Apparation. The staff was busy marking papers and preparing lessons, and Snape was quite certain that no one in the whole castle had noticed that he had not been in the Great Hall for lunch. He rarely ate there on the weekends, preferring the privacy of his own chambers, and as his nose now filled with the scent of roast and potatoes, gravy and Yorkshire pudding, he knew that his decision to have lunch at Edmunds' pub instead of having sandwiches in his study had been the right one.

'Would you like to have a glass of wine with your food?' Hope asked as she wiped the table in the booth Snape usually occupied.

'I would love to,' he replied, wondering for a moment if he should offer a compliment about the delicious smell that hung in the air but then deciding against it. Such a comment seemed far too trivial.

'I'll be with you in a moment,' Hope promised and hurried off again, and Snape gazed after her, admiring her soundless steps and her posture as he had done so many times before, not only over the last one and a half months but already when Nadezhda had been his student. She had been taught well once, and no matter how much time that had passed, she would never be able to shake off the teachings that had become part of her very being. She would always keep her back straight and her eyes lowered, make sure no one noticed her and only speak when she was spoken to.

Was he the only one who noticed how out of place she was in this establishment, Snape wondered. Could no one else see that she belonged in more esteemed settings, in a fancy tea room or an elegant dining hall?

He let his gaze wander around the pub. Sundays were the one day of the week when the place as truly busy, and this Sunday it looked as if the whole village had come there for lunch. But Hope didn't seem stressed. She took time to chat with each of her patrons, refilled their glasses and carried out empty plates. She was the perfect hostess, and had she not chosen a different life, she would certainly be hosting parties at McKibben manor that would make the Malfoys pale with envy. By the table closest to the bar, she lingered for quite some time, talking to the pale, straw blond boy with big brown eyes, who was enjoying apple crumble and custard for dessert. He smiled at her and blushed as she said something which Snape couldn't hear, and before Hope left the table she affectionately ruffled the boy's hair. She would have made a good mother as well, Snape was certain of that.

Eventually, he was being served his lunch and while he was eating, the patrons left one by one, returning to their homes. Silence settled over the pub, and Snape allowed himself to sink deeper into his seat, enjoying the quiet and the warm feeling that was spreading through his body. He stretched out his legs under the table when he had emptied his plate, inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for one short yet blissful moment. It was only now that he realised how tired he was, only now that he understood the blessing of having a place to get away from all his obligations and responsibilities. The little Muggle pub had become his haven, a sanctuary to which he could retreat when he was in need of a break. No one would ever look for him here. Most people he knew would never even think he'd sink so low as to socialise with Muggles.

'Rough week?'

Slowly, Snape lifted his gaze to look up at Hope. As so many times before, he had not heard her approach.

'Rough year,' he stated and then pinched the bridge if his nose.

Hope had no idea. She might think that a couple of cauldrons had exploded or that a student had managed to poison a peer. She might think that it was his daily teaching duties that were giving him a headache. She had no clue, of course, that Snape spent his waking hours shadowing the son of Lucius Malfoy, making sure the boy didn't hurt anyone else in his attempt to murder the headmaster of Hogwarts. Neither did she know that he had been up until the small hours, brewing yet another potion that would keep said headmaster alive for another month or two. The curse from Marvolo Gaunt's ring was growing stronger and spreading, weakening Dumbledore with every day that passed. But the old wizard was not yet ready to die. All his pieces stood not yet ready in the giant game of Wizarding chess that he was playing. He _mustn't_ yet die. For even his own death was part of his strategy and Snape yet another of his pawns.

But Hope knew nothing of this, and Snape was not planning to tell her. They had made a deal, after all, and in this deal, the Wizarding world did not exist.

'There's still some apple crumble,' she informed him. 'Would you like some?'

'I couldn't fit anything more in my stomach even if I tried,' Snape admitted.

'You are missing out. Edmunds' custard is legendary.'

Snape sighed as he placed his hand on his stomach, and Hope tilted her head.

'Maybe we should go for a walk?' she suggested.

'In this weather?' Snape questioned.

'It's not that bad.'

'What about your patrons?'

'I think Edmunds can handle them,' Hope pointed out. 'After all, there aren't that many left.'

She looked back over her shoulder. Everyone had left apart from the three fishermen at their usual table, and the landlord had just served them a new round of ale. They would be busy for a while, drinking and telling tall tales. There was no reason why Hope couldn't leave the pub for half an hour or so. She fetched her coat, and within a few minutes, she and Snape had left the pub.

The weather had actually become worse. The mists hung now thick over the lake, and there was a drizzle, but Hope didn't seem to mind. Her steps were determined, and Snape followed her without asking where she was leading him. It didn't matter. Not one bit.

At the edge of the lake, she came to a halt, gazing out over the water. At first, Snape thought that she was watching the pair of swans that were courting each other, but eventually the birds disappeared into the mists, and Hope did not avert her gaze. For her eyes were searching for the shore on the other side of the lake, the shore that was as deeply hidden in the mists as the shores of Avalon.

'I've been having strange dreams lately,' she suddenly said, still gazing into nothingness. 'About wizards and witches, old castles and manor houses. I haven't dreamt about those things for years.'

'I think it is only natural that you should be having such dreams now,' Snape started carefully. 'However, I apologise that my appearance here has triggered them.'

Hope swirled around.

'No, please. Don't. Don't apologise,' she interrupted. 'I, um, … They are not bad dreams, you know. Not like the ones I used to have. Back then, when I started to light the candle, hoping it would protect me during the night. I would wake up screaming back then, with cold sweat running down my back and my heart pounding like mad in my chest. At some point, I was so afraid of my dreams that I'd do anything to stay awake.'

She broke off, taking a shuddering breath, and Snape in his turn barely dared breathe. He had not dared hope to learn anything more about how Hope had fared when she had first come to the Muggle world. A month ago, up in her room, she had made it quite clear that she did not want to talk about her past. But now she seemed to have changed her mind, and Snape feared that the slightest interruption would make her fall silent once more. So he kept quiet, barely able to hold back the questions he had been dying to ask ever since he had come to the pub the first time and realised who the landlord's daughter really was.

'It all started out so well,' Hope continued after a while, once more turning towards the water. 'I was surprised at how easy it was to live without magic. Yes, there were things I had to learn, but Charles had taught me what I needed to survive. I knew my way around the house, could work the stove and the heating, and he had shown me how to take the bus to get to the villages around here. I didn't want to do my shopping at the same place every week, you know. I didn't want to be noticed, not even by a simple store clerk. And it worked. No one ever asked me any questions, no one ever seemed to recognise me, and eventually I allowed myself to relax. I would go for long walks by the lake, sometimes even stopping at a pub to have lunch. I talked to people, chatted about the weather and other meaningless things. I went to church on Sundays to study the Muggles, and once or twice I even went to the cinema. I was doing well, and my new life was one big adventure. I started to enjoy myself. But then the baby was born.'

'The baby?' Snape's eyes widened, and for the duration of a heartbeat, he thought that he had misheard. But Hope nodded.

'But… Madam Pomfrey provided you with a potion,' Snape went on. 'Did you not…'

'I did take it,' Hope claimed. 'I don't know, maybe I did something wrong or…'

She shrugged.

'That child was fathered by a powerful wizard,' she went on. 'It wasn't going to let itself be… _murdered_ by a simple potion.'

Snape stood silent, staring at Hope, almost unable to take in her words. How had she coped? Adapting to a whole new world must have been difficult enough for a girl her age. For a girl was what she had been, a mere child. How had she managed to take care not only of herself but a new-born as well?

Then his jaw dropped.

'That _boy_,' he said slowly. 'The boy you were talking to earlier. Back in the pub…'

He had been the right age. Straw blond hair and pale skin, the spitting image of Barty. And Hope had been ever so affectionate. But she shook her head.

'No,' she said quietly. 'Pete is just a sweet and lonely boy who stole my heart years ago when he came wandering into the pub looking for his father the day his mother was laid to rest. I've watched him grow up. Helped him with his homework and made sure his father didn't drink himself to death. _My_ little boy, however, lies buried in the churchyard on the other side of the lake. He didn't live to celebrate his first Christmas.'

She nodded towards the opposite shore, and for the first time ever, Snape was glad she wasn't looking at him anymore. He was unable to hide both his shock and his confusion, and Hope didn't need to see that. And when she continued her story, her voice was so feeble that Snape doubted that he would be able to bear to see the look in her eyes. What sadness would he see there, what pain?

'He was a beautiful boy. Hair as black as the wings of a raven, pale skin and his father's eyes. He was my pride and joy, my everything. But he was also the reason why I stopped leaving the cottage. I knew that even little babes are able to perform magic. What would I have done if he made his teddy bear float among a crowd of Muggles? Or worse, when a wizard or witch was looking on? I couldn't take that risk. I simply couldn't. So I locked us in, only leaving the house to pick up food and supplies when he was fast asleep, praying that he wouldn't wake up, praying that he wouldn't do any magic. Then one day when I came home, I found him dead.'

She brought her hands to her face, taking a couple of deep breaths, and Snape simply watched her, at a loss for words.

'Sudden infant death syndrome,' she continued after what seemed like several hours but could not have been more than a couple of seconds. 'The doctors said that it just happens and that I was not to blame. He might have died that afternoon even if I had been right by his side. But I never forgave myself for having left him alone.'

Her voice broke, and she gave the tiniest of sobs which she was quick to muffle with her hands. She cleared her throat, and when she looked at Snape again, he could see no tears glittering in her eyes. The look on her face was composed and her eyes once more the cold emeralds which he knew so well.

'I have no memory of what I did afterwards,' Hope continued in a matter-of-fact tone. 'I assume I went back to the cottage. After all, I had nowhere else to go. But I don't remember sleeping or eating. I don't even remember coming here, to this side of the lake where I had never been before. I don't remember being in the hospital nor coming to the pub. All I remember is the candle on my nightstand, how it burned every night and sometimes even during the day. It was the only light in otherwise eternal darkness.'

Snape stood as if petrified. He didn't know what to say or even what to think. He was simultaneously horrified and in awe, admired the strength of the woman in front of him and pitied her at the same time.

'Hope, I… I don't… I am at a loss…'

'There is no need for you to say anything. I am thankful that you stayed to listen.'

'Why?' Snape managed to bring forth. 'Why did you share this with me?'

Hope shrugged.

'I don't know. I thought I'd never tell anyone. But maybe the time was ripe. My apologies if it made you uncomfortable.'

'No! Merlin, no!' Snape exclaimed. 'I am… surprised, to say the least. Claiming anything else would be a lie. But I am also very honoured.'

'Honoured?' Hope asked, frowning.

'That you trust me enough to share this with me,' Snape explained.

'She has always trusted you, Severus. I thought you knew that.'

Hope gasped as a voice cut through the silence at the edge of the lake, and Snape spun around, wand at a ready, even though he knew the voice very well.

'What are _you_ doing here?' he hissed.

'There, there, Severus. Put your wand away,' Dumbledore replied calmly. 'We both know you won't use it against me. Just yet.'

'What are you doing here?' Snape repeated, obediently stowing away his wand but fixing the headmaster of Hogwarts with a stare so poisonous that a weaker man would have died on the spot.

'I am merely visiting an old friend,' Dumbledore explained, striding past his Defence teacher. 'How have you been, my dear?'

He stretched out his hand, but Hope didn't take it. Instead, she recoiled, her face pale and her eyes darting between her former headmaster and her Head of House.

'An old friend?' Snape inquired. 'Are you telling me you knew all along that Hope… that Miss McKibben was here?'

'I most certainly knew, Severus. As headmaster, it is my duty to know where my students reside, even when they choose to terminate their studies somewhat prematurely.'

Snape's eyes darted towards Hope. How could she have kept this from him? How could she have pretended that she had no contact with the Wizarding world? How could she have him believe that he was the only one?

He felt betrayed, hoodwinked and used, and his first impulse was to run. He was even considering Disapparating, no matter the punishment imposed by the Ministry. But then he saw the look in Hope's eyes, those eyes which normally didn't betray any of her emotions. The eyes that had looked at the Dark Lord without blinking once. They were now filled with confusion, and Snape could even detect a hint of fear.

Frowning, he directed his attention once more towards Dumbledore.

'You better explain yourself, Albus.'

'I intend to,' the headmaster agreed. 'I owe an explanation not only to you, Severus, but also to Miss McKibben. But may I suggest returning to the pub? The weather is rather unfriendly, and I happen to know that the last patron has left. Our conversation will be undisturbed. And I do think that we are all in need of a nice cup of tea and a large brandy.'

He strode off towards the village without waiting for either Snape or Hope to reply, and most probably, he didn't notice that both of them lingered by the edge of the lake. Either that or he had chosen to give the two some time on their own.

Hope was still pale as a ghost, staring after Dumbledore, and Snape in his turn stared at her, waiting for her to say anything. But she didn't utter a single word, not even long after Dumbledore's purple cloak had disappeared in the mist. Her lips were slightly parted and the lower one was trembling.

'You did not know,' Snape pointed out eventually. 'You had no idea Dumbledore knew about your whereabouts.'

Hope gasped for air.

'How? How… how _could_ he know?' she asked, her voice unsteady. 'I was so careful.'

'Dumbledore always finds a way,' Snape said calmly, swallowing his anger for the old man.

What had Dumbledore been thinking, showing up like this? He must have foreseen that his sudden appearance would scare her, that she would start wondering about who else knew where she was. She knew nothing about Albus Dumbledore, had no idea how powerful he was or how many secrets he had.

'There is no reason to be afraid,' Snape tried to soothe her, carefully laying his hand on Hope's shoulder. 'If Dumbledore knew where you were for all those years and chose not to contact you, then I am quite certain that he made sure no one else would find you. Come, let us return to the pub. The old man has quite a bit of explaining to do.'

They didn't talk on their way back to the village. They walked side by side, both with their hands deeply buried in their pockets. Hope kept her eyes firmly on her shoes, and Snape looked ahead, desperately trying to block out memories from over a decade ago, memories of the night when he had led Nadezhda McKibben to Riddle Manor, where she had been supposed to receive the Dark Lord's mark. Somehow, this walk felt just about the same. Ridiculous, really, Snape was well aware of that. Albus Dumbledore always looked out for his students and would do anything in his powers to keep them from harm. Most probably, he had set heaven and hell in motion when Nadezhda McKibben had disappeared, had found her and made sure she fared alright. Most probably, he also had very good reasons for showing up here today. But Snape still feared what lay ahead and that he was once more leading Nadezhda to a place where she did not want to go.

May she forgive him for it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: An Unexpected Guardian**

As Dumbledore had predicted, the pub was empty of patrons as they entered. Edmunds stood behind the counter, drying glasses, but he seemed not to notice neither Dumbledore sitting by the window nor Snape and Hope entering the pub.

'You put enchantments on the place,' Snape concluded.

'I most certainly have,' Dumbledore replied merrily and pulled out two chairs. 'I prefer to converse privately with the two of you.'

'Privately?' Snape cocked an eyebrow. 'You do realise that the Ministry will have been alerted by now, don't you? In a few moments' time, the pub will be crawling with Aurors.'

But Dumbledore didn't seem to worry.

'Did I forget to mention that the Auror on duty today is an old friend of mine? I have been assured that a little bit of magic will go quite unnoticed today. Now, sit, both of you. Tea or brandy?' he asked, conjuring first three glasses out of thin air and then an entire tea set, carrying the Hogwarts coat of arms.

Snape's eyes darkened. Trust Dumbledore to bend the rules. Was there anything he _couldn't_ get away with?

'This is a very nice little pub,' he mused, smiling benignly at Hope as she took a seat beside him. 'And is that apple crumble I smell?'

'I hardly think you came here in order to admire the decor or to have pudding,' Snape snapped. 'And if I recall correctly, you were about to give us some explanations.'

'Yes, indeed,' Dumbledore replied, steepling his fingers in front of him. 'Where to start?' he pondered aloud. 'Where to start?'

'How about you start with telling us how you came to know about Hope's… _Miss McKibben's_ whereabouts?' Snape suggested impatiently. Dumbledore's circumlocutions were making his bile rise.

'Ah, now _that_, dear Severus, is a very good suggestion. If you must know, one of my sources was a member of your House and a dear friend of yours, Nadezhda. You don't mind me calling you Nadezhda, do you?'

Hope almost imperceptibly shook her head, and Snape frowned. Charles Herrington's memory had been erased. He couldn't have tattled. Or had the spell not worked?

'As you might recall, Severus' Dumbledore continued, 'Mr Herrington sought my permission to visit his parents after Christmas despite previously deciding to stay at Hogwarts in order to catch up on his studies. As you also might recall, the boy blushed easily and had no talent for lying whatsoever. Also, he cared deeply for you, Nadezhda, and was very worried. He only had your best interests in mind when he decided to tell me about your plans.'

'And you simply let those plans be carried out?' Snape questioned.

'I thought it unwise to get involved. For the time being, that is,' Dumbledore explained. 'After all, said plans had been carefully crafted, and if I am honest, I was curious to see how they would pan out. However, when Mr Herrington returned to Hogwarts in January, with seemingly no recollection whatsoever of where he had spent the last two weeks, I did grow slightly concerned.'

'Slightly?' Snape hissed, finding it increasingly harder to control his temper. 'One of your students returns to Hogwarts with his memory erased and another one is missing somewhere in Muggle Britain and you grow _slightly_ concerned? I am starting to think that Lucius was right a couple of years ago. You _are_ losing your touch!'

'Now, now, Severus. Discovering how perfectly the charm had been performed, I didn't have any reason to believe that Nadezhda was in any kind of trouble. After all, we are talking about a very bright young witch. I assumed that she wouldn't have cut bonds with her best friend unless she was absolutely certain that she would do just fine on her own. Am I not correct, Nadezhda?'

'I didn't want anyone to know where I was, including Charles,' Hope confessed. 'It was the only thing that mattered at the time.'

Her voice was calm, and she was sitting with her back straight. She had wrapped her fingers around her tea cup, and Snape couldn't help but wonder if she was doing so in order to keep her hands from shaking. Dumbledore, however, did not seem to have noticed.

'You did very well,' he praised her instead. 'It took me months to find you. Had it not been for the birth of your child, I might never have.'

Hope flinched.

'How do you know about my boy?'

'The birth of every magical child is automatically recorded,' Dumbledore explained. 'I assume you did not know.'

Hope shook her head. She was holding on to her cup with such force now that her knuckles were turning white, and her face was so pale that Snape feared that she would faint at any moment.

'Only a few people know about the Book of Admittance,' Dumbledore continued. 'It is a powerful magical artefact in its own right, charmed by the founders of Hogwarts themselves. The only ones who have access to it are the residing headmaster and his deputy. I can, however, assure you that not even Professor McGonagall had seen that specific entry, and with your son's death, the record of his birth was erased from the pages of the book. No one knows that the boy ever existed. And thus, no one knows where he was born or where you are.'

With a sigh of relief, Hope closed her eyes before burying her face in her hands, and Snape, too, relaxed. He knew about the Dark Lord's plans to gather information about any magical births in the country to seek out and persecute Muggle-borns. Once Dumbledore was dead, it would only be a matter of time until he'd gain access to the Book of Admittance. Surely, he would want to hunt down the one that slipped through his fingers. But thankfully, there was now no record of Nadezhda McKibben's child, and she herself was safe once more.

'It was thanks to the Book of Admittance that I was able to trace you,' Dumbledore continued. 'I checked up on you occasionally and found that you had been doing quite well. Until the day your child expired, that is. That day, I saw you break, and that was the day I decided to reveal myself.'

Hope looked up from behind her hands, frowning. It was clear that she was trying to remember Dumbledore's appearance, but as she had told Snape that very afternoon, she had no recollections whatsoever of the time after the death of her child.

'You were in quite a state, my dear,' Dumbledore explained. 'I considered taking you to St. Mungo's but deemed that a wizard hospital was not the best place for you to be. So I brought you here and made sure that you were taken care of by the right people. The police officers that took you to the hospital were in fact two Aurors and Nurse Edmunds… well, Elisabeth was a Squib.'

'A Squib?' Snape asked incredulously.

'Of course,' Dumbledore replied, sounding as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 'As you are well aware, Squibs are looked upon with a certain degree of… disdain, and quite a few of them have chosen to settle here, in the only place in Britain that has never seen any magic. That Elisabeth Edmunds was on duty the night Nadezhda was brought to the hospital was, of course, a coincidence , but I welcomed it nonetheless. I deemed it wise to have her keep an eye on the girl, in case she happened to produce any kind of magic – intentionally or accidentally. Elisabeth would understand and make sure no one else noticed. Thankfully, she never needed to.'

Snape sat as if dumbstruck. He could barely believe what he was hearing and at the same time he was not even surprised. This was Albus Dumbledore talking, after all, one of the most brilliant and cunning wizards alive. If anyone could have found Nadezhda McKibben, find her, make sure she was taken care of and then disappear again without her leaving any trace, it was him.

Hope, too, seemed puzzled, and when she finally spoke, her voice was so feeble that it was hard to make out her words.

'Why… How come I don't remember any of this?' she asked. 'Why don't I remember _you_?'

'You were not well, my dear,' Dumbledore replied with a gentle tone. 'Your grief and guilt were tearing at your very soul. I feared that you were a danger to yourself. Thus, I decided to ease your burden.'

'You used a Memory Charm on her,' Snape stated.

'I didn't do so lightly,' Dumbledore defended his actions. 'Meddling with someone's memory is not always the best of choices, and I did not know if it would do any good. After all, Nadezhda, your darkness festered in your heart and not in your mind. And that pain I could not take away. It is there to this very day, isn't it?'

Hope did not answer. Her hands still covered half her face, and her green eyes were staring blankly ahead. Snape doubted that she even saw Dumbledore. He, however, glared angrily at the old man.

'I think Miss McKibben has heard enough for today,' he pointed out.

He rose from his chair, and for the second time this afternoon, he gently put his hand on her shoulder.

'Come,' he simply said, and as Dumbledore didn't protest, he carefully guided Hope out of the pub. Edmunds had retreated to the kitchen, and he never saw the door that led upstairs open as if by magic. He neither saw Snape and Hope walk up the stairs, nor did he see Dumbledore vanish into thin air. As far as he was concerned, his pub had been empty for over an hour.

Hope didn't speak nor look at Snape. Her steps were steady, and she was once more keeping her back straight. But Snape wasn't easily fooled. He could see how she was trying to hide her shaking hands in the folds of her dress and how she flinched at the faintest sound.

'It is alright to be upset,' he said softly as he pulled out a chair for her in her room, the same chair he had sat on a few weeks ago. He in turn positioned himself by the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dumbledore as the headmaster walked away. He wanted to see him leave. He wanted to be sure that the old meddler had gone. But the fog had grown even thicker, and Snape couldn't make out anything through the window.

'I should have known,' Hope said after a while. 'I should have understood.'

'What should you have understood?' Snape asked.

'That I wasn't alone.'

Snape frowned. From the tone of Hope's voice, he couldn't tell whether or not she was happy about that fact, and he figured that her sentiments could go either way: she could be grateful for Dumbledore's continuous protection or disappointed that she had not been able to keep her whereabouts secret from the Wizarding world.

'This was Elisabeth's dress, you know,' she continued, tugging at the hem of her sleeve. 'She gave me a lot of things. Clothes, books, hairbrushes and ribbons. But most of all, she gave me a home. I don't know where I would have gone, if she hadn't taken me here once I was released from the hospital. I don't think I could have gone back to the cottage. Not after my boy…'

She broke off and looked up at Snape, frowning.

'Do you think Elisabeth only took me in because Dumbledore asked her to?'

Snape shrugged.

'I do not know,' he replied, but as he saw the crestfallen look in Hope's eyes, he quickly added something else.

'I can tell that Edmunds has grown very fond of you. I assume his wife did as well. Do her reasons for taking you in really matter today?'

'No. I guess not.'

Hope exhaled audibly, brought her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes before squeezing them shut and letting her fingers trail through her dark hair. She bent her head and rubbed her neck, rolled her shoulders and then straightened up before taking a couple of steadying breaths.

'None of it matters,' she said softly. 'These things happened half a lifetime ago. Maybe it's time to let them go.'

When she looked up at him, Snape could do nothing but gasp. He had expected to see many things in her green eyes. Tears, confusion, even anger, but he had not expected to see the ghost of a smile reflecting in them. It was as fleeting as a shooting star, gone in a heartbeat but just as mesmerising and precious. And Snape could only hope that one day, it would linger.

'How is the girl, Severus?'

Snape carefully closed the door behind him, fighting the urge to slam it shut with such force so it would fly of the hinges. He would keep his temper, he had promised himself on his way up to the headmaster's study. He would listen to what anything else Dumbledore had to say, listen and try to understand. But as the old man now sat behind his desk, looking ever so relaxed and pleased with himself, Snape found it hard to keep the poisonous tone out of his voice.

'Why would you ask _me_ that?' he snapped. 'It seems to me like you know all about _Miss McKibben_.'

Dumbledore just smiled.

'Now, now, Severus. Have a seat. Tea?'

Snape turned down the tea but did sit down opposite Dumbledore, who took his time pouring himself a cup, adding milk and sugar. He seemed in no hurry whatsoever, and Snape struggled to keep his calm.

'Did you even for a moment stop to consider how startling your sudden appearance today would be?' he demanded to know after a couple of minutes of silence.

'I did indeed,' Dumbledore replied. 'I have considered revealing myself for many years but refrained from doing so just because I was afraid that Nadezhda wouldn't take it well. After all, she has been quite convinced that no one knew where she was.'

'Then what made you change your mind today?'

'The fact that you were with her, of course.'

Snape frowned. He had suspected that Dumbledore's appearance that afternoon had been well-timed and not a mere coincidence, but so far, he had not been able to figure out how the headmaster had known that he had been there.

'I assume you have a spy at the pub,' he suggested. 'One of the Aurors, perhaps?'

'Dear Severus, give yourself some credit. I am quite convinced that you managed to avoid being seen by any Auror. I know you have the means to disappear into the shadows, even without magic.'

'There is need to flatter me, Albus. Tell me how you knew that I was at the pub.'

'Well, I did not know for certain that you were there _today_. I hoped you would be, but I could not know for sure. As little as I can know that you went there all those nights and weekends when you couldn't be found anywhere in the castle. You could, of course, have been summoned by Voldemort this afternoon, but I decided to take a chance.'

Snape exhaled through his nose and exaggeratedly clenched and unclenched his fist. Dumbledore was a genius, there was no doubt about that, and he certainly had a talent to make people lose their temper with his opaqueness.

'How did you know that I use to frequent this particular pub?' Snape now asked slowly, weighing every syllable so Dumbledore would not have a chance to give yet another ambiguous answer.

'Well, dear boy, I happened to see you once.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Well, not in the pub, but in Nadezhda's… _Hope's_ room. And quite frankly, for a moment I was concerned that you might have noticed me as well.'

At first, Snape was intrigued, but as Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, smiling ever so smugly, Snape's eyes darkened once more. He was not in the mood to play games, and if Dumbledore now made him guess on how he had knowledge of whatever happened in Hope's room, Snape would be sorely tempted to throw an Unforgivable curse at him. Luckily for the headmaster, however, he provided an explanation.

'The candle, Severus. The candle on the nightstand and the painting behind it. Didn't you notice anything?'

Snape frowned. He had thought that he seen both candles flicker when he had entered the room, both the one that Hope extinguished and the one in the frame. But surely, it couldn't be!

Yet Dumbledore nodded.

'I have a similar painting,' he explained pointing towards the opposite wall. 'During the day, it is simply a painting among others. Quite small and not much for the world to see. Most people think it to be Muggle painting, since the flame never moves and the wax never melts. But when darkness descends, the painting springs to life, and the flame begins to flicker.'

'When darkness descends?' Snape inquired. 'Darkness… of the mind?'

Dumbledore nodded.

'When Hope lights her candle,' Snape concluded.

'Yes, when Hope lights her candle,' Dumbledore confirmed. 'At first, it was Elisabeth who lit it on my orders. Someone had to watch the girl at night, whisper to her when her nightmares threatened to tear her soul apart. It was meant to be a temporary solution, a tool to be cast aside once it wasn't needed anymore. But then Elisabeth died and Hope kept lighting the candle.'

'What is it she is still afraid of?' Snape asked, his annoyance with Dumbledore all but blown away. This wasn't about Dumbledore. This was about a seventeen-year-old girl who had been scared to a point where she had seen no other way out than to run. And now, half a lifetime later, she was running still.

'_Hope_, Severus, is afraid of Nadezhda,' Dumbledore answered gravely. 'She is afraid of the things Nadezhda has seen, the things she has learned and the things she is capable of doing. She has locked her away, somewhere in a dark corner of her mind. Locked her away and tried to forget her. But like the night returns once the sun has set, Nadezhda returns with the darkness. And until the day Hope makes peace with her and accepts her with all her flaws and shortcomings, she will not be rid of her demons.'

'She has struggled with those demons for the better part of her adult life,' Snape pointed out. 'Will she ever defeat them? How can she be helped?'

Dumbledore sighed and tilted his head, surveying the dark wizard in front of him with his friendly blue eyes.

'Help can only be given to those who accept it, Severus. This is why I did nothing but watch for fifteen years.'

Snape held the headmaster's gaze steadily and unblinkingly. He understood very well that the old man was not only talking about Hope. Yet he was glad when Dumbledore rose from his chair, for he had no desire to discuss his own demons that evening.

'I think I'll take Fawkes down to the grounds,' Dumbledore announced, already extending his arm towards the phoenix that promptly took flight and landed on its master's arm. 'You may stay here, of course, Severus. For as long as you wish.'

Snape frowned, for a moment at a loss of what Dumbledore was talking about. Why would he want to stay in the headmaster's study? But as he looked after Dumbledore as the headmaster approached the door, Snape's eyes were drawn to the little painting on the opposite wall. A painting of a flickering candle.

He swallowed. For a moment, he contemplated to call Dumbledore back, but during the few seconds that it took him to cross the room, he understood that Dumbledore already knew that Hope had lit her candle. He had seen the flame flicker in the semi-darkness and chosen not to act. For he had decided that Hope was not his to protect any longer.

Hesitantly, Snape extended his hand and let his fingers trail over the wooden frame. He did not know how Dumbledore's charm worked, but as he looked into the tiny flame, he could see the silhouette of a woman. Hope was standing by the window, gazing out over the lake, as she had done so many nights before. Her back was straight, and she held her head high, but Snape sensed clearly that it was nothing but pretence. If Hope were as strong as she looked, she would not be standing by the window. If she were as strong as she wanted the world to believe, she would not have lit the candle. Despite what she had said to him earlier, she wasn't ready to let go, had not yet the strength to forget. Maybe she never would.

With a sigh, Snape lifted the painting off the wall, tucked it under his arm and descended to the dungeon. He would look out for Hope now, whisper to her at night and pray that she would sleep. He knew how it was to lay sleepless, unable to wake up from nightmares that did not only come at night and refused to leave in the morning. He'd do anything to spare her. But when he arrived in his study and mounted the painting on the mantel, the flame was quite still. He could see nothing in it, not even a shadow, and he thought that Hope must have gone to sleep. He could not know, of course, that there had been a knock on her door.


End file.
